


a name to call my own

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode 12.09 First Blood, Episode: s12e09 First Blood, Family Feels, First Kiss, M/M, POV Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: "Because for all their ridiculous posturing, their low voices and their sharp knives and their insistence on not talking about their feelings, all that has ever mattered to them is the world and the people in it. They are not blunt instruments, they are beating hearts beneath scarred flesh and steady hands.They are vulnerable."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Coda for 12x09.
> 
> I wrote this in like an hour and a half and it's not beta-read so apologies for any errors, I just needed to get it out.

Castiel didn’t expect to find them so soon.

Even with Mary’s help, her admittedly fast driving. Even with the British Men of Letters and their tools and their contacts and their satellites. After six weeks without Sam and Dean, seeing them stumble towards him in those dark woods feels like a dream, or what he always imagined a dream would feel like.

And then, just as quickly, he stands to lose one of them. His field of vision narrows until all he can see is their faces, stubborn and sad and wholly resigned to their fates. 

Still he cannot act. Still, he is frozen in place, like he has been the entire time they were missing.

Mary is the first to make a move. Whether it’s her instincts as a mother or her instincts as a hunter that prompt her to offer herself up in their place, Castiel doesn’t know. Maybe it’s both. She’s just as fierce as they are, just as brave. 

And still he cannot act. Cannot raise his voice in protest the way the boys do. They would never recover from losing her again, this much is clear. Much like Castiel would never recover from losing one of them.

It’s not until Mary raises the gun to her head that Castiel’s decision is made. All eyes are trained on her, and so he moves with the silence and speed afforded to him by his Grace, and he stabs Billie through the chest.

_I’m sorry, sister_ , he thinks as the blade pierces her flesh. _The other angels were right. I will always choose the Winchesters_.

“Cas, what have you done!” Dean shouts, but there’s no real anger in his voice. 

Castiel has done something. And that is what matters. He has spent so long being a tool, being a pawn to someone else’s schemes. He regrets taking the life of someone who has been a tentative ally, but he knows that he made the right choice. 

So he tells them, once and for all, what they all mean to him. He spells it out for them, because they need to understand. And he pours his bitterness at his own failures into his speech, and when he says _you’re welcome_ , he sees the forgiveness, the understanding in their eyes even in the dark. 

The rest of the ride back to the Bunker is quiet, after that. 

What more is there to say? Each of them was willing to sacrifice their own life. But Castiel was not willing to let them die. He never has been, and he never will be. Not while he still has strength to protect them.

He glances over at Dean occasionally, but he stares out the window, face stoic aside from the minute twitching of a muscle in his jaw. Castiel knows this look. He knows this particular silence. He knows that the minute they arrive home, Dean will explode. 

He looks forward to it. It will serve as another reminder that Dean is here, that he’s safe, that he’s alive and home and that he’s with Castiel once more. 

Sam and Mary chat quietly in the front seat. She tells him about the hunts she’s been using to fill her days, about seeing Max and Alicia Banes, how impressed she is with them and their skills. She doesn’t mentioned Castiel’s failure to kill the vampire or how she had to step in, and for that, Castiel is grateful. 

He can’t go back and fix his mistakes. He can’t make sure that Sam and Dean never had to make that deal with Billie in the first place, or make sure that they were never even captured at all. He can only move forward from here. 

So when they arrive at the Bunker, he forces Sam and Dean to sit down in the library while he heals their wounds, the small scratches they acquired from their desperate flight through the woods, the aches in their muscles from their days trapped in those cells. He holds his rage in check while he works. How dare those men treat them this way. These are the Winchesters, and they are not to be trifled with. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam murmurs when Castiel pulls his hand away, the faint light of his Grace still spilling from his palm. He claps Cas on the back, kisses Mary’s cheek, and makes his way down the hall to his room. He’s exhausted. They all are, even Castiel, who doesn’t require sleep.

Mary follows soon afterwards. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says softly, lifting a hand to rest it on Dean’s cheek. He doesn’t flinch away this time, but rather leans into it. A small smile plays on Mary’s lips. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Mom,” Dean says, his voice still hoarse from disuse. Or perhaps from emotion. Castiel isn’t sure.

Once the sound of her footsteps has faded away, Castiel looks over at Dean. His eyes are closed, the light from the lamps casting shadows over his cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jawline. 

“You should sleep,” Castiel tells him, because it’s true. There are other things he could say, things that are equally true, but he isn’t convinced that Dean wants to hear them.

Dean opens his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees. 

He stands, rolls his neck from side to side. Castiel watches, entranced. And then Dean turns back to look at him. “I haven’t slept well in weeks,” he admits. “Will you…”

He’s tentative in a way that Castiel has never seen before. This whole time, he has been bracing for a fight. For Dean to yell at him about stupid decisions. But instead, he gets this. Dean, his eyes soft and tired, pleading for something Castiel can’t quite determine.

So when Dean swallows roughly and turns to leave the room, Castiel flicks off the lamp and follows him.

They don’t speak as they make their way towards Dean’s room. They don’t speak as Castiel closes the door behind himself, as Dean slowly peels himself out of that horrid jumpsuit and throws it to the ground. As he climbs into bed, deliberately leaving a space beside himself.

Castiel understands, then. He thinks back to what Dean said about being in that place. How it was worse than Hell. He wonders how that’s even possible, and again curses the men who put Sam and Dean through such misery. They are made for action, the Winchesters. They are built to fight, or even to endure, but not to wait, scared and alone, to be rescued by someone else.

Because for all their ridiculous posturing, their low voices and their sharp knives and their insistence on not talking about their feelings, all that has ever mattered to them is the world and the people in it. They are not blunt instruments, they are beating hearts beneath scarred flesh and steady hands. 

They are vulnerable.

So Castiel removes his trenchcoat and drapes it across the back of the chair. He strips down to his plain white underwear, and he lays down beside Dean.

“What you said earlier,” Dean says. He pauses. “You were right. It was a stupid deal.”

“Yes.” Castiel shifts slightly so that he can see Dean’s face. “And don’t lie to me, Dean, it would have been you. I know you. There’s no way you would let Sam be the one to sacrifice himself.”

Dean lets out a humourless laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Castiel hates himself for asking, but he needs to know. “Why didn’t you pray to me?” Did Dean not trust him enough? Not believe him capable enough?

He feels Dean tense beside him. “I wasn’t in the best state of mind,” he says quietly. “Cas, I didn’t even know if you were okay, if you were still focused on going after Lucifer’s baby mama, whatever. The world needed someone to look after it, still. I had to give you that chance, not get you dragged in there with us.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. So Dean continues.

“Didn’t you hear yourself?” His voice is sharp, but there’s a note of fondness in it. “The world needs every last Winchester it can get. That includes you, man.”

Castiel sucks in a startled breath. He’s never considered that before. All those times that Dean has told him that he’s like family, and Castiel has never thought of himself that way. Others have been quick to point it out as well, how he’s more of a supporting player than a true hero. 

But Castiel doesn’t care about any of them, about what they think. Not anymore. He only cares about Dean.

“You saved all of us tonight, Cas.” Dean’s voice breaks slightly. “You were incredible. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says again, but this time he means it. “I would do it again. And again.”

“I know,” Dean murmurs. He turns over, and he looks at Castiel, his gaze steady. “I’m glad you’re here.”

If Dean can summon the courage to speak so plainly, then so can Castiel. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. God, Cas. You have no idea.”

“I rather think I do,” Castiel tells him, and he’s rewarded with a faint smile, visible even in the dark.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yes,” Castiel promises. “I’ll watch over you.”

And because he is done with being patient, done with waiting to do as he’s told, done with doubting himself and his place in this world and in Dean’s affections, he leans forward and kisses Dean, softly enough that he has a chance to pull back.

But he doesn’t. He sighs into Castiel’s mouth and kisses him back.

They pull apart after a moment, and Dean traces the line of Castiel’s cheek with one shaky fingertip. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he says.

“I won’t let that happen,” Castiel vows. 

“I know you won’t.” And with that, Dean turns on his side. Taking the hint, Castiel presses in close behind him and drapes one arm over Dean’s waist. He presses a kiss to Dean’s shoulder, the same one that bore his handprint all those years ago, and eventually Dean’s breathing evens out as he drifts into sleep.

Castiel holds him through the night. This is the role he has always imagined for himself: protector, guardian, companion. But he always thought it meant being somehow set _apart_ , like there would always be some invisible distinction between the Winchesters and himself.

But he’s realizing that’s no longer true. Because they are all those things to each other, and to Castiel as well. They have been for years. They all have their times of glory and their times of weakness, their high points and their low. They are flawed, but they are trying, and they can’t do the things they do without each other’s support and love. Here, in Dean’s bed, holding him tightly in his arms, Castiel finally understands: this is what it means to be a Winchester.


End file.
